


toast to the moon

by rakuenoasis



Category: A3! (Video Game)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Compliant, Canonical Character Death, Drinking, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Found Family, Gen, Introspection, help i'm sad now
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-27
Updated: 2021-01-27
Packaged: 2021-03-17 20:40:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28731351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rakuenoasis/pseuds/rakuenoasis
Summary: It isn’t that Chikage is the type to drink. But there is a lingering and aching feeling coming from the events of what had happened today that made him push to the edge of temptation, one that kept him up for so long that even lying down felt too excruciating to do.Chikage is restless, in short. He wanted to run across rooftops and jump from one building to another. He wanted to swim across the seas and roll around the cliff where August had left them to his demise. He wanted to feel the grass where August had last laid on, touch the dried blood long washed away by the solemn nights of the winter and into the mornings of spring, of life in the absence of someone who should be alive. Of someone who had left his family, left them. (Had left him to a newfound demise that Chikage once hoped not to cross paths with one day.)(Or: Chikage, twelve months, and a fleeting memory that remains.)
Relationships: August & Mikage Hisoka & Utsuki Chikage, Mikage Hisoka & Utsuki Chikage, Spring Troupe & Utsuki Chikage
Comments: 3
Kudos: 31





	toast to the moon

**Author's Note:**

> before i get into this, long time no see, i guess? i haven't touched this account since september and that's mostly because college has been extremely hectic. the sem /just/ ended and i wanna try to get back on my feet before the second sem (aka next month) k/lls me again. so if this fic sucks, sorry HAJKHDJKDSFHJ
> 
> i was planning on writing tenyuki but then i got a source of inspiration that does not fit them, hence this fic. this is my first time writing chikage so i hope i'm able to do some justice to him.
> 
> inspiration for this fic is [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZXzmOUtXuB4). lately, i've been into mo dao zu shi and i just love the story so much (gr8 novel btw i recommend it. i cant get enough of wangxian's relationship now). when the jp dub got announced, i was particularly excited about this. the song in question is the ending song for mdzs jp dub season 1.

The first April without August, Chikage pours the last of his alcohol into his glass. (Well, not _his_ alcohol anyways as Chikage contemplates the time he broke into the Major’s office and took a bottle or two of whiskey before storming out.)

It isn’t that Chikage is the type to drink. But there is a lingering and aching feeling coming from the events of what had happened today that made him push to the edge of temptation, one that kept him up for so long that even lying down felt too excruciating to do.

Chikage is restless, in short. He wanted to run across rooftops and jump from one building to another. He wanted to swim across the seas and roll around the cliff where August had left them to his demise. He wanted to feel the grass where August had last laid on, touch the dried blood long washed away by the solemn nights of the winter and into the mornings of spring, of life in the absence of someone who _should_ be alive. Of someone who had left his family, left _them_ . (Had left _him_ to a newfound demise that Chikage once hoped not to cross paths with one day.)

But he couldn’t. He had run away once, twice, several times. And each time he would make a run for it, there would always be someone who’d curl their fingers into his own hands and pull him back, into warmth where he didn’t fit because he lacked _so_ many pieces to really belong to such. He’s only ever learned the completeness of three; he lacks in spaces made for two and feels suffocated at the thought of five more into his own bubble. It’s not that he doesn’t belong (or that’s what Chikage attempts to convince himself of, anyways). It’s just that the completeness of three has stuck to him for so long that Chikage couldn’t _help_ but linger in the absence of that warmth once again.

So instead, he numbs the warmth and accepts the cold liquid running down his throat.

It stings. But Chikage couldn’t bring himself to care about it.

The weeks would later pass and Chikage would eventually wake up to the fallen flowers of late May on the rooftop, another bottle of alcohol wasted and a cup raised to the waning moon of the night.

He does not tell anyone about this, amongst all the other things he’s kept tucked into the sleeves of his own heart. Does not tell the sake he’s taken from Azuma the other night. Does not leave another word except for a good night to the troupemates whose presence tickled something that has put Chikage in a loss of words for days now. Does not spare a glance at Dece– _Hisoka_ who has long let his body succumb into slumber in the hours where Chikage himself could only feign sleep.

How long has it been since he’s last found himself in the comforts of slumber, of scented gingerbreads and butter cookies waking him however he had once despised them more than anything? How long has it been since he’s felt vanilla-scented hands run through the messiness of his unwaxed hair, of shallow breaths let out in exhales as he’s whisked into consciousness over the melodies of later afternoons? Of a voice that rises him from his long slumber and pulls him towards the table where they drown themselves in tea and cookies and all the stories they could make up from the top of their heads?

Instead, Chikage could only smell flowers in the presence of a lingered death, Spring’s own exhales and breeze in exchange of artificial scented sweets and brewed teas.

He hates it, learns to despise Spring, and takes another shot of the now warm liquid into his lips.

Spring would then pass in a blink of an eye and Chikage would soon arise to the blaze of yellows from his window. Before he knew it, it’s now Summer. And Chikage learns to keep his own wistful emotions under his own wraps amidst the summer heat.

But he goes on, lets his feet trudge through the days and the changing floors of the dormitories. Lets himself indulge in the most childlike indulgences of those around him, however the feeling of wanting to be alone overcomes him. 

(But then those days would come fewer and further in between, days when Chikage would forget even for a minute that he is who he simply is. 

Chikage does not pay heed to them. Instead, only wishes for those summer-filled days to come more and nearer in between.)

He indulges himself in newfound scents and textures he’s never come to appreciate until now: the softness of fabric mixed with stitched threads, the warmed coin coming from his pocket to his own hand, the aroma of spices and bittersweet soups flooding the living room, the hardness of pen gripped onto his own fingertips. He learns the sounds of music on stereos as he dances along the practice floor, the clicks of controllers in front of glaring screens and the cackles of his own dear fellow of a friend next to him. He learns the laughters of children and copies them, although awkward and rough around the edges.

Nevertheless, Chikage still has a reality to retreat to. He still climbs up the rooftops, pours his stolen sake into his own glass, and toasts his own share to the moon. 

He thinks, in the midst of July and the greened leaves that come and go with the warm breeze of Summer, that he could get used to this. Could get used to the security and safety, however false it feels on some days.

But then, August comes. And Chikage forgets how to indulge in the likes of children. Forgets the scent of spices. Forgets the cackles. Forgets how his lone coin feels on his warm palm. Instead remembers just how much his newly bought wine _stings_ his throat.

On one of those days, Chikage comes home with cake.

Away from the forming crowd that has lined up for their own share, Chikage takes his own plate of cake and bottle of wine. He then climbs up to the rooftop, sits on his usual spot, and begins to pour his own wine into his glass.

But then another pair of footsteps come near him. And suddenly Chikage pulls his own bottle away from the glass in his other hand.

He knows those footsteps all too well.

Chikage decides to immediately cut it to the chase. “Surprised to see you awake throughout the trip.”

Hisoka huffs and sits down next to him. “Shut up. It’s just one rooftop. I don’t really sleep in these things.”

“Says the man who slept in the middle of an assault in Italy.”

He watches as Hisoka rolls his eyes and produces his own glass from his side. His other side, Chikage notices, holds a plate of cake.

Chikage doesn’t even need to ask _why_ Hisoka has managed to come here in the first place.

“I didn’t think it would be our last time celebrating his...” Chikage could sense that even Hisoka is trying to hold back on his own words. Instead of pushing him to finish however, Chikage nods in understanding. He does not continue his sentence; rather, he passes the bottle to Hisoka who thanks him in silence.

“But it’s weird,” Hisoka whispers as he begins to pour his own share. 

Chikage raises an eyebrow. “What is?”

“You don’t usually purchase sweet things, even if August asks you to do such.”

Chikage does not say another word, his face flushed at the statement. He holds his cup to the full moon in front of them and sighs. Not later he finds another cup raised next to his own.

Hisoka hums. “Is this what you’ve been doing all this time?”

“...”

Chikage could only stare at the cup in silence. Hisoka sighs and uses his free hand to nudge Chikage’s shoulder.

The other’s brows furrow in annoyance. “Oi, what was that for?”

Hisoka shakes his head. “Wake me up when you’re going to drink next time, idiot.”

Chikage almost asks why he has to until Hisoka then interrupts him by clearing his throat. “To August, thank you. We’re happy where we are now.”

The nights of August pass where the spot next to Chikage now feels warm, secured, complete. They raise their cups to the waning moon, drink their shares and even tears (on those nights when the incompleteness overcomes them a bit too much) as they exchange stories and laughters under the starry skies.

Chikage doesn’t understand why Hisoka does this, apart from the apparent lack of surgency in the other’s coping and the need for a shoulder to lie on during those times. But he appreciates it nonetheless.

Autumn comes sooner than they had expected and Chikage no longer wakes up to complete incompleteness. (The void is still there, still lingers especially on his worst days, but remains everyday regardless.)

Yet, he learns to appreciate the completeness of two, in the permanent absence of three.

October comes and Chikage learns the joys of life in the presence of lingering death. He looks up at the two promising rookies of the two troupes and connects with them by their own respective lack of experience. He learns to dance even better on the stage, learns to make melodies and emotions through his own words in the guise of another person fit to be him. Embraces the childlike nuances of his own troupemates, of late-night abrupt gaming sessions and magic tricks that have sparked the hearts of the youngsters alike. Of shared recipes on curry and spice knowledge with his Director. Of a life casted away, the months no longer roaming his mind as he learns to spend his days with each bittersweet second.

November comes and passes. And before Chikage knows it, it’s December yet again.

Once again, he relearns the meaning of death, the absence of life, the experience of seeing the light once more. 

He relearns darkness when he holds Itaru’s hand as they trudge through the dungeons of a castle known to him so many times. He relearns anguish when he stares at Citron’s expression, at the thousands of secrets he might have kept from them. (And Chikage learns, later on, that he is not the only one who’s keeping secrets.) He walks through the plane of death at the sight of the moon on their way back to Japan, remembering the man’s last words before they landed onto the ground with no goodbyes, no promises of a probable afterlife exchanged between them.

The celebration grows louder inside but so does the static in Chikage’s head. He almost forgets to breathe several times on the way to the rooftop, on the same spot he has learned to abandon the weeks beforehand.

He no longer lets his words speak the message. Instead, he raises his cup and stares at the moon with tears in his face.

Before he could take a gulp of it, however, he hears a voice call him from below.

“Chikage-san! Chikage-san!”

Chikage puts his own glass down and stares at the sight below him in shock.

He notes the magenta hair swaying with the wind, the hand waving directly at him, the eyes staring at him in awe and indescribable concern.

 _Sakuya_.

“Chikage-san, get down from there! It’s dangerous!”

And before Chikage could even speak, the count before him multiplies. Out comes Masumi, with an indifferent look. Out comes Tsuzuru, who looks like he’s about to faint from the sight he’s seeing. Out comes Itaru, who looks like he’s almost about to laugh. Out comes Citron, who looks just as concerned as Sakuya. 

“Chikage, you’ll trip and fall down the grass if you stay there longer!”

“Senpai, you better get down or else that Sakyo will give you an earful.”

“Take it from Itaru. He’s already been given one so many times.”

“Masumi-kun, that’s not the issue here! The issue here is Chikage-san getting into an accident if he falls.”

Chikage doesn’t retreat to the script he’s prepared in case something like this happens, doesn’t bother to tell that this is _normal_ , that he’d rather be left alone to his own thoughts.

Instead, he laughs for the first time in _months_. He laughs and lets his tears fall as he leaves his glass aside and pulls his own glasses away. He laughs until he could no longer distinguish what’s laughing from crying and only stops when he feels the exhaustion coming from his own shaking body.

The group below does not look anywhere else but him, who has been crying without them knowing.

With a nod and an afterthought left in his throat, Chikage picks up his glass and bottle and descends down to the balcony where he sits on the floor and sighs. The rest of the group–no, _his troupe_ –run towards him, checking for potential injuries, warning him that they’d have to call the Director if he does this again.

Chikage’s tears return on his face, a memory from before when _he_ had given him that exact warning beforehand. He sobs and buries himself into his own knees without another word.

Neither of them exchange another word; instead, they huddle up together and stare at the dimming lightbulb above them as Chikage feels his own tears subside.

He wakes up to the warmth of January, with the sunlight behind them and a blanket over them. Chikage looks at the drink in front of him, unconsumed and untouched.

He still says his own sorries to August: sorry for not being better when he was still there, sorry for not partaking in the sweets August has prepared them for hours for him, sorry for not being there during his last moments, sorry for putting December’s life on the line when he himself hasn’t heard the truth from his only other family member left.

But he no longer succumbs to the feeling of incompleteness of three, at least for now, as he lets himself be buried in the warmth of five.

And he thinks, five more people in his own space isn’t so bad after all.

He might as well get used to it, to a space made for six, he thinks as he slips into the darkness and dreams of only good things, of troupe shenanigans and another family waiting to welcome him back into their arms.

He dreams of August lifting his chin and smiling at him while whispering with the same sweet tone from a long time ago,

_“May you find a happier and better life, April.”_

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April comes once more with even more drinks, with even more bowls and plates of food around them, all fit for twenty-five who have gathered under the moon for the celebration of one.

Chikage stares at the candles on his cake, customized to be extra spicy just for him, and gives a genuine smile for the first time in a year.

He could get used to this, after all: the completeness of twenty-five, he means.


End file.
